Let them go

I had a dream last night that airplanes manufactured as dolphins were turning tricks in the sky. And in them, once they landed, were professionals putting on a job fair. At first, I was shy, but eventually with a little coaxing from Pat, I found the writer among them. He was a tall man wearing a red shirt and long curly brown hair. I asked him: How do you handle it when your confidence level drops so drastically that you almost don’t want to write. He could barely speak English and asked me to repeat the question, slowly. So I did: How. Do. You. Handle … and so on. Finally he said: I go to a bar. I drink. Then laughed at how hilarious he was and said seriously: You can’t let past poems weigh you down. You can’t be under them.
I think he meant I have to let them go.

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